


A Bit of Sound Advice

by dearcaspian



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, M/M, Short One Shot, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 06:38:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15358467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearcaspian/pseuds/dearcaspian
Summary: In which Mahinnah finally takes a break and new kinks are accidentally discovered.





	A Bit of Sound Advice

“You’ve been awake for sixteen hours,” Dorian says. He stands before Mahinnah, arms crossed, glare as stern as he can make it in the face of such a pitiful sight. “Some of those have seen you fighting more than stuck-up nobles at the dinner table. You need sleep, amatus.”

Mahinnah gradually shakes his head, refusing to look up from the array of papers scattered before him. From the way he leans heavily on his hands splayed out against the desk and the bent slump of his posture, it is clear exhaustion set in some time ago.

“It was a small skirmish,” he mumbles, squinting at a particular line of text. “They weren’t very well organized to begin with.”

“They were members of a rising cult faction waiting outside the city gates and determined to see you _dead_ ,” Dorian scoffs. “Josephine called in a healer. Or was that so long ago your sleep deprived mind has now forgotten?”

“Mmm,” says Mahinnah. He taps near his left ear where the recently acquired wound hides behind a swath of thickly wrapped bandages. “Small skirmish, small scrape.”

Dorian resists the urge to throw his arms in the air. Instead, he chooses to marvel at the other man’s obstinance in the face of practicality. A thousand pretty faces nearby in all of Thedas at any given point of his life, and he had to fall for the one with the wonderfully formed, very stubborn lip.

“The sun is setting,” Dorian tries anew, pointing to the window. Val Royeaux was a sight indeed to behold after dark, but he did not feel like seeing it now. “Please come to bed. I know the room’s decor is hideously Orlesian, but you’re falling asleep standing up.”

Mahinnah sighs. His hair hangs loosely around his haggard face, limp and unkempt from unintentional neglect. “Alliances don’t make themselves, Dorian,” he remarks. Tense joints pop in quick succession as he stretches. Both wince at the sound.

“Alliances also aren’t created overnight,” Dorian points out. “You’re not going to solve this by continuously flinging your wearied body at it.”

“I can try.”

“I doubt anyone here will venerate you for becoming a living corpse.”

“No, that sounds more like Nevarra, doesn’t it?”

“Gods above I will push you off the balcony.”

Dorian claps his open palms down on the table over Mahinnah’s hands with a soft thump, effectively trapping him in place. The two eye each other, noses mere inches apart.

“My darling,” Dorian says, “I understand what you’re trying to do, but quite frankly, your level of exhaustion is beginning to frighten me and I would really appreciate it if you listened to my sound advice.”

“But I’ve almost figured this out,” Mahinnah laments, struggling weakly against Dorian’s grip. “Five more minutes.”

“No. I’m going to abuse my powers as your inquisitorial right hand. Sit down.”

“When has anyone ever mentioned I have a right hand?”

“Me, just now.” Dorian grinds his teeth, voice a slide of gravel in his throat. “Sit. Down.”

He motions to the oversized chair a few feet away, tucked beside a bookcase in the corner. Mahinnah studies the plush, inviting fabric and feels his limbs go weak at the prospect of finally allowing himself a moment to rest.

“Fine,” he grumbles. Dorian doesn’t relinquish his hold.

“How am I supposed to move if you won’t allow me?”

“Like this.”

Dorian tugs, intertwining their hands, firmness dissolving into subtle direction once he sees how Mahinnah stumbles at the slightest touch. All determination is gone. He only stops once on their path to the chair to comment on how ridiculous the two of them look, shuffling sideways, Dorian still refusing to let go in case of an escape attempt .

“There.” Dorian allows Mahinnah to tip back into the chair. The view of him looking up is amusing in the place of pitiful this time.  “Better?”

The herald hums, acquiring a favorable consideration for his new surroundings. “I suppose it’s fine…”

“Liar.”

Mahinnah pulls together a tired grin. “Yes, yes, this is much better. Thank you.”

“Yes, well.” Dorian sniffs. “I’m not your caretaker.”

“I don’t need a caretaker, Dorian.”

“You, my dear, out of everyone I’ve ever known, could use a caretaker. Now hush. You need to relax.”

“If I _hush_ , will you agree to join me here, then?” Mahinnah asks, smile taking on an altogether different tone.

“ _That_ is not relaxing.”

“It could be.”

“You’ll fall asleep on me,” Dorian says with disdain.

“You’ll just have to keep me awake.”

“You have a head wound.”

“A scratch, surely.”

Dorian grumbles without any actual impatience and steps closer, lightly touching Mahinnah’s knee. “You were half dead two minutes ago, amatus.”

“Do I look dead now?”

 "A little, yes.”

Mahinnah snorts. “You’re awful.”

“You would be in a much worse state if I hadn’t ordered you to… oh,” Dorian says softly, raising an eyebrow. A knowing smirk threatens to overtake him.

“Oh, what?”

“Is that what this is about?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Mahinnah tries to protest, but Dorian’s hand has already inched its way up towards his thigh.

He lowers his voice once more, words a deep rumble rolling out in a way which indicated agreement was the only acceptable response. “I think you do, Hinnah; want to tell me?”

Mahinnah fidgets beneath Dorian’s twinkling stare. “I’m not-”

“Are you going to make me ask twice?”

“No,” he breathes out, seeming to melt into the chair. “I’ll tell you anything you want to hear.”

“Good to know…” Dorian murmurs, moving Mahinnah’s knee aside with a gentle knock of his leg. He takes a second to admire the soft, compliant arch of the other’s back. “I do enjoy it when you’re talkative.”


End file.
